


hylian identity crisis

by seaer



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Character Study, Gen, POV Second Person, link being dumb, sometimes himbos have deep thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:28:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21626089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaer/pseuds/seaer
Summary: So whatdoyou do? You send arrows yards shy of drooling monsters, dig truffles from their beds in the black earth, lie in the warm laps of green valleys and tavern boys alike. On a good day you play the hero, for a minute or two, to some hapless tourist unlucky enough to run afoul of a Bokoblin. You see the castle on the horizon, shrouded in red like a planet with its own malevolent atmosphere, and you turn your face away.
Relationships: Link/Prince Sidon (Implied), Link/Zelda (implied)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67





	hylian identity crisis

You are not the champion of old.

He’s a stranger, the boy who slept so soundly for a century only to wake up as you in the low-lit shrine, reborn in water blue as a jewel, fluid sacred, amniotic. You imagine that it was kind of a nasty surprise, reincarnating into a flightier, more clueless iteration of himself, but you don’t mind. You’re all that’s left of him. If he minded, you wouldn’t ever know.

You know him the way a papercut knows unbroken skin—barely, but the people of the land pour their stories of him into your ears and the Yiga throw down the gauntlet when they realise you and him wear the same face, the same slate on your hip. It’s like you stepped out of your rest into the wilds of Hyrule and good Hylia put a sword in your hand and a hundred and seventeen years of reputation to balance on your head. When the turncoats come with their sickles and their laughter careless as a fast wind, you pay for his heroism. What you don’t do is maintain it.

So what _do_ you do? You send arrows yards shy of drooling monsters, dig truffles from their beds in the black earth, lie in the warm laps of green valleys and tavern boys alike. On a good day you play the hero, for a minute or two, to some hapless tourist unlucky enough to run afoul of a Bokoblin. You see the castle on the horizon, shrouded in red like a planet with its own malevolent atmosphere, and you turn your face away. 

Maybe you are a coward. Kicking back in the more questionable corners of Zora’s Domain while the princess holds back a slavering tide. Breaking hearts Tabantha to Lanayru. Last week in Hateno Village you dropped an antique pot out the window just to see it smash and an old woman chased you up the slopes with a soup ladle. You think that may count as one of said broken hearts. (Once you wondered why the starry-eyed folk who wax poetic about the missing Hylian champion never recognise you, but you caught on pretty fast.)

But what is cowardice? Inaction? Have you been a coward for a century, just because you didn’t wake up earlier? You think maybe you spend more time philosophising about your own virtues than you do swinging a sword. The last time you were in Zora’s Domain you asked Sidon whether you were a coward just to see him sit up in alarm and say no, absolutely not, why would you think so? Which was enough ego-boost for a whole month of feeling good about yourself. Even if you don’t always feel like the hero you should be, when he believes in you the way he does, it’s hard not to. You wonder if this is how Hylia feels. Men bent before her image, reverent. Tulips on her altars. Belief manifesting truth. But then again, it’s probably easier to feel like yourself when you’re a goddess. 

You make it a game, in the moments of your stupidest mistakes. Would the old Link fall off his horse trying to knock an electric arrow in his bow? Would the old Link let go of his bow and also his arrow in his tumble, then proceed to roll directly onto said electrified arrow and receive two hundred volts through his poor, tormented body? Would the old Link this, that, this? Yeah, no, probably not. In the quieter moments, watching grass sigh in the crisp Akkala air, you wonder if the old Link was ever this alone. There the country rolls and rolls, and sometimes you don’t see another person for days. Roasting meat in the smoky dusk around a stable, you wonder again if the old Link ever had food this good.

You know along the line you’ll storm the castle. Do the old Link thing and save his princess from his monster and his country from his blight, all with an appropriately pious, placid expression. Who is this usurper, come to make amends on behalf of the boy? To wear his face and live his destiny? 

You’ll kill the beast. Sheathe your sword. Hold out your elbow for her to lace her arm through, and when you’re out in the clear of day maybe, maybe she’ll say, Where were you? I missed you.

You’re just the way I remember and more.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m on tumblr @bdhead


End file.
